The Fight for the Maid of Tarth
by diionysxs
Summary: Ser Humfrey Wagstaff makes his entrance at Evenfall Hall, a quick one-shot exploration of the relationship between Brienne and Selwyn.
Salt clung to the air, and she was garbed in mail the expectation for her to don dresses had long since passed, her Lord father had stopped trying to force her either way. There was a chill to the air that morning and it seemed to echo through the hall when _he_ arrived. He was more than thrice older than her, a shiver ran down her spine but she remained resilient as Ser Humfrey made his way down the hall. He'd accepted the betrothal, everyone told her she ought to be thankful, that after the past two she was lucky to get this one. She glanced sideways over to her father, the stout man was sat proudly upon his seat an irrefutable force. Beyond him was his newest woman petite, comely, hair golden but Brienne felt no jealousy. She never had.

"Lord Selwyn, my Lady," he offered in a voice that boomed through the rafters, then he turned to her the disdain unshielded in his eyes, "Lady Brienne".

She offered him a modest smile, a quirk of her lips truly, a slight flash of crooked teeth and she could almost feel the repulsion in the air between them. He'd clearly lost his hair summers ago and any charm he might've once had in his youth with it, proud and loud but not particularly courteous, or not so with her. He had turned away now, not even bothering to address her as he talked. The old knight's eyes lingered somewhere, on someone else to her father's grim disapproval.

"The arrangements have already been made?"

Selwyn nodded.

Brienne's stomach churned, the thought of marriage had never enticed her she'd rather train with Ser Goodwin or anyone that'd have her. She stood a little taller, already she towered over most men even at just six ten, but she prayed to the gods that she could shrink. Disappear from this game of charades. Fingers itched for a sword at her hip, her father let her don armour but a weapon was apparently a step too far. Still she'd been training and excelling recently in the yard, Ser Goodwin said she had good stamina was faster and stronger than most. For a woman.

She'd been scarcely listening unaware the conversation had returned to her.

Eyes pinned her from all angles.

"You best listen better when we're wed," he stepped closer with a crooked smile, "and I will not have my lady wife cavorting about in man's mail. On this you shall obey me, lest I be forced to chastise you."

Skin prickled, the thought of being scolded by this old knight didn't sit well with her. She shifted on her feet awkwardly, her cheeks flushed a little but still she spoke with a remarkable sureness, "I'll accept so long as you can outfight me."

The old knight purpled and muttered something about teaching her a woman's proper place.

The hall was replaced with the yard, relieved that out here there was a slight breeze, she waited for the knight to don his armour. _Knight_ , she mused silently he didn't look it. She was nervous and it danced in her eyes briefly until her hands gripped the mace. Rounded with no spikes, a tourney weapon, he reappeared looking almost daft in his armour. Then she supposed people thought the same of her. Part of her was surprised this was happening, that her father hadn't put a stop to it, and a part of her was apprehensive perhaps even a little excited.

They fought, or rather he made a feeble attempt too. She caught him twice with the rounded edge of her mace, winding him as he staggered away. For a moment she thought he might yield, call this all off but then he lunged at her bold and proud with screaming lungs. She was quick, quicker than him and narrowly missed his attack. He was stood doubled over panting like a hound, Brienne could've pitied him for a moment but he was no knight. Not truly. The mace caught him dead on the shoulders, she'd come at him with all her force and a harsh gurgled scream came from them both.

He made a distorted horrific noise and she thought again as she squinted through her visor at him that he might finally yield. Then he made a final attempt to swipe at her, his blunted sword caught her gauntlet and she grunted. It'd left a dent and there was a faint ache but she could still flex her fingers. Hands tightened around the mace and she swung it with all her force at him. It came crashing into the side of his chest, metal rang against metal in a sweet song and the old knight crumpled. Brienne stood over him huffing and panting.

He yielded.

She was certain she heard her father sigh behind her, but her head was spinning so it was hard to tell. The mace was returned to the weapons rack, as graceful as the clumsy girl could be, and as she turned she could see the disappointment on his face. Clear as the sky above. It stung a little but beyond him her master at arms was smiling a slight one but it almost felt like he was proud. She smiled, but it was hidden beneath her helm. Mail rang with every step she took and finally the exhilaration caught up with her, long gruelling lessons in the yard had paid off.

A man had rushed to the old knight's side helping him up, and as Brienne removed her helm to reaveal matted straw hair she turned to him. Not a word left her lips but there was no need, the betrothal was off, she would not be chastised by a man who couldn't swing a sword. If he looked decrepit earlier, now he looked broken, shameful and with a shove he'd forced away the man that'd been helping him up.

"My lady," he spat.

"Ser, I'm no Lady," there was little starburst of confidence to her now, likely from the adrenaline that still coursed through her. "Brienne of Tarth if it pleases you."

Perhaps if she'd been born a man this might've been easier, she could've been a knight a true knight and make her father proud. _Knight_ , she would still have to marry but at least as a man there'd be no-one to tell her what she could and could not do. Brienne turned from Ser Humfrey, away from her father, and walked metal ringing in her ears. Helm tucked beneath her arm.

She disappeared down a well walked path, beneath a pale archway the scent of the sea was stronger here and alone she smiled. Stood vigilant like a watcher on the wall for the waves that crashed against rock, for the sun that was unclouded high above, arms pressed to the stone the warmth of it faint. She'd left her helmet along with the sparse plate armour she wore at her feet, still garbed in mail which hung with a degree of weight from her broad shoulders. Stronger than most, certainly than most boys her age, she didn't complain she preferred the weight of mail to an ill-fitting dress.

Brienne flinched, she felt a brush against her shoulder but relaxed when she heard his familiar voice. "Sent the kind Ser on his way," she couldn't help but think her father sounded strained. "This'll be the last, I promise," his hand squeezed her shoulder gently, she could feel the mail pinch her skin in response. She glanced to him with wide blue eyes, she was young still but clad in armour she looked older. Aided with the slightest of scratches she'd received from training the morning before, mostly healed but she liked to pretend it was a battle scar gifted by a chivalrous act. Naïve, young and still full of imagination, fuelled by the songs she'd heard throughout her childhood.

"Ser Goodwin suggested it's about time you had a sword of your own."

Eyes widened, a crooked smile, "thanks".


End file.
